In an hour of darkness In an hour of grief When we look to the news And find no relief

A clown in the White House Rules a vampire ball Where the blood flows freely Right through the halls

A front man is needed For the main freak show So out to the barracks They presently go

They find a pliable man With shoulders like stone Who says what he means And does what he’s told

And he’s got FOUR STARS That General Petraeus He’s got FOUR STARS That’s four more than you He’s got FOUR STARS That’s enough to betray us He’s got FOUR STARS So what you gonna do?

When the refugees are in millions And the prison’s filled with innocents When car bombs detonate routinely Still criticism’s unseemly

When a man with a multi-colored map Sits down and tells you where it’s at And answers every question In just the perfect way You gotta say

That’s why he’s got FOUR STARS Good ole General Petraeus He’s got FOUR STARS What’s that mean to you? He’s got FOUR STARS That’s enough to betray us He’s got FOUR STARS Just enough to pull us through

When history judges men It does so with a mighty pen A name may be forgotten Or forever engraved in stone

For villainy, for virtue For loyalty or treason, For General Petraeus They won’t have to find a reason

They’ll say he had FOUR STARS That he used to betray us FOUR STARS And a shell game on the news FOUR STARS Yeah that General Petraeus He has FOUR STARS That’s four more than you _______________New York Times, September 10, 2007

Cooking the Books for the White House

General Petraeus is a military man constantly at war with the facts. In 2004, just before the election, he said there was "tangible progress" in Iraq and that "Iraqi leaders are stepping forward." And last week Petraeus, the architect of the escalation of troops in Iraq, said, "We say we have achieved progress, and we are obviously going to do everything we can to build on that progress."

Every independent report on the ground situation in Iraq shows that the surge strategy has failed. Yet the General claims a reduction in violence. That's because, according to the New York Times, the Pentagon has adopted a bizarre formula for keeping tabls on violence. For example, deaths by car bombs don't count. The Washington Post reported that assassinations only count if you're shot in the back of the head -- not the front. According to the Associated Press, there have been more civilian deaths and more American soldier deaths in the past three months than in any other summer we've been there. We'll hear of neighborhoods where violence has decreased. But we won't hear that those neighborhoods have been ethnically cleansed.

Most importantly, General Petraeus will not admit what everyone knows: Iraq is mired in an unwinnable religious civil war. We may hear of a plan to withdraw a few thousand American troops. But we won't hear what Americans are desperate to hear, a timetable for withdrawing all our troops. General Petraeus has actually said American troops will need to stay in Iraq for as long as ten years.

Today, before Congress and before the American people, General Petraeus is likely to become General Betray Us.

MoveOn.org. POLITICAL ACTION

Paid for by Moveon.org Political Action, polical.moveon.org, not authorized by any candidate or candidate's committee.

My ass is wrapped in plastic ...This nipple's plastic, too,And all the food they feed me is mushy, pasty goo.My parents don't seem to talk a lot,They sit and watch a glowing box;I'm stuck inside this plastic cage,The only one who acts his age.I don't know why it is so stupid here;There's dullness everywhere --It seeps inside me day by dayAnd though I scream won't go away.I haven't really learned to form these questions in my head,But like something out of focus,Coming nearer every day,I get this nasty feelingThat things won't go my way.

Now years have passed and I have learned to speak and wipe my butt;So now it's time to go to school -- An ugly place -- so what?Mom works and works and now she's getting wrinkles in her face --Dad seems so tired when he comes home -- He sits in just one place.And now it's growing louder All this racket in my skull --Please get in line, don't touch those things, Please try to think; it's time to sing.I'm a schoolboy, and I'm really thinking 'bout Nancy's underwear; I'm a schoolboy,but they treat me like a convict everywhere.

Now nailed inside this TV coffin,I'd like to die; I'm seventeen.She turned me down one too often,And I've been smoking too much weed.The world outside my window's glum,I won't get a job because I'm too dumbThe shoes aren't hip,My face has zitsAnd my whole life is in the pits.I'm a teenage nervous breakdown,My karma is givin' me the shakedown;If I had two horns I couldn't be weirder;I hate that face in the mirror --Don't know how I got hooked up with itBetween me and him, we're a losing pair --Even schoolchildren stop and stareAnd say "Freak, he's a weirdo;"They aren't afraid of me --Please let me out oh god if you are there;Since I was a child I've looked for you everywhere --The nuns were fronts for a hollow scam,And the Pope doesn't yell about Vietnam;The whole damn earth just holds me downAnd businessmen scare me with their frowns.I'm a freak -- a weirdo --A loser at the starting gate --Freak -- a weirdo -- Don't worry'bout me, I'm always late, Don't worry 'boutme, I can't get a date; Don't worry 'boutme, Don't worry, Don't worry 'bout me.

I dreamt of one of my ancestors, an Ainsa from the colonial era, that he was writing this --

"I have been pictured in reports wearing arms and carrying a musket, but I must clarify that I was never one of those valientes who fought for the King with weapons, and should not be so honored. All of my service has been with my quill pen, keeping records of the stocks of material and other properties of the King, which I did to the best of my ability.

And as for the meteorites that have been in our keeping, though it is said they fell from the stars, we do not know this to be their origin, for we did not see them fall, and if they did, we cannot explain how they came to be in the sky, so it is only conjecture from their molten appearance. As for those who say they fell from the buckets of angels sent to stoke the fire of the stars, we cannot know, but the notion seems far-fetched."

A gargoyle faceGreeted me This Morning.I patted its leering chops,and it purred.Heavy paws on my chesteased back and the stone colored faceTurned feline gold.The growl, the warm breath on mynostrilsIs the rising sun.

When you look on this world Filled with sadness and grief You might think that death Is your only relief

But if you could just learn To lie through your teeth You wouldn't have to eat hamburger, You'd dine on prime beef Instead of smokin' shake, You'd be tokin' fine spleef

Cause God loves a hypocrite Sure as you're born And a lie's the best shelter From blame and scorn The truth's just plain trouble, But don't look so forlorn, Just start spewin' bullshit You'll find shelter from the storm

Some people are blessed With a flexible tongue That they occupy With spreading cowdung

Whether lobbyists, lawyers, Judges or thieves, They make a fine dollar From social disease They all stand around And share pats on the back So glad to be one Of such a fine bunch of chaps

Cause God loves a hypocrite Sure as you're born And a lie's the best shelter From blame and scorn The truth's just plain trouble, But don't look so forlorn, Just start spewin' bullshit You'll find shelter from the storm

Some think that lying Won't take you that far, But to get someplace these days You don't drive a car

You fire up a printing press And co-opt TV, Rig polls and elections Pay folks to deceive -- When the votes are all counted What a surprise! The one who wins Is the one who lies.

Cause God loves a hypocrite Sure as you're born And a lie's the best shelter From blame and scorn The truth's just plain trouble, But don't look so forlorn, Just start spewin' bullshit You'll find shelter from the storm

Looking now through the window of a wombAt hands that have touched everything in the universe --Now clenched in embryonic fists --The world's been turned to goldImpacted, imploded, blasted inward,Melted, smelted, and refined

"I dwelt among the rivers of your mind."

I have been walking in the empty hillsDown under the mountainsThrough caverns of blacknessThat echo with untrodden tunnels,Searching for the El Dorado of the blind.Now, look, where cold invisible heronsCome to spread their wingsIn a sky rippled with clouds,And ancient men in ancient clothesTake shelter in the grottoes of the wind.

"The mountains are of gold;The world is a jewel,A spider in a precious web."

Unafraid, he said, I walk through the golden abyss, the fathomless radiance,Singing a song to cup the fragile draught of life.The tiger has become my friend.The dragon makes merry with the clouds,And among the mountain peaksAncient men in ancient clothesTake shelter in the grottoes of the wind.

"The rivers and rocks are married together -- No one remembers our name."

It's one of those opaque nights.The moon goes down early and young.The atmosphere thickens and hidesStars, hills, trees --Your voice is out there in the dark distance.Listen, Cottonwood,let's run away together,tonight --I'll be a leaf that doesn't care whereWe're going. You can carry me beyond ourbridge, under the railroad, through the meadowsAnd into California. Splash by Hilt andSlip through Hornbrook about midnight.Merge with the Klamath in the darkwe'll give ourselves up to the rushof its waves and wind through canyons Of volcanic rock tottering withindividualistic pines and junipers.Below Oak Knoll we'll yoke arms with Beaver Creekand storm through Happy Camp --tonight, Cottonwood, tonight.As the cold comes on with increasing bitewe'll take the final stretch two stepsAt a time, And in the predawn lightWe'll sight the soft glow of endless wavesand oceanborne clouds.As light spreads over the Coastwe'll look back through the weaving woods-- tall trunks the warp, heavy boughs of emerald-blackthe weft, with silver dawn like a luminous archsuffusing the tapestry with light.The grey waves, Cottonwood,Will swallow us both and we'll returnto lap the shore we came from that gave us birth,To shape with sandy fingersthe discarded roots and boles of the rain forest,Drifting North and South along the rocky coast,Wandering with the rain.